


Let Loose

by Laur



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dancing, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Smut, Genderswap, Ladies in love, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sherlock doesn't like to wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: After a week-long separation, Sherlock needs to test a little theory about John.Written for Femslash February.





	Let Loose

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone or as a companion piece to [Speak and Listen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955979).

The long queue inched forward at a snail’s pace, fashionably-dressed people craning their necks and shuffling impatiently on the pavement. Some of them had been waiting for twenty minutes at least.

Sherlock grabbed John by the hand and cut right to the front.

Arms crossed, the towering bouncer looked down at the two women, his stern expression flickering with recognition. With a knowing smile he stepped aside, permitting them to enter the den of deafening music, disorienting lights, and intoxication. Nodding in thanks, John hurried after Sherlock, eager to escape the death glares and indignant grumblings trailing behind them.  

The place was dark and modern looking, the sleek black and chrome décor juxtaposing attractively with the old building. Letting go of John’s hand, Sherlock led the way to the bar, using her long, bony limbs to her advantage as she slithered through the crowd. John pressed close to her back so they wouldn’t be separated, wondering why they weren’t immediately staking out the place.

Sherlock purchased two drinks – a beer for John and a rum and coke for herself – and John raised an eyebrow, lifting on her tiptoes to place her lips near her girlfriend’s ear. “You could just get a coke you know,” John pointed out, accepting her sweating glass. Sherlock didn’t like to drink while on a case – alcohol compromised her focus.

Sherlock tilted her head questioningly, looking unearthly under the flashing purple lights.

“If you’re trying to blend in,” John explained, but Sherlock only shrugged, her lower lip caressing her glass as she took a sip.

They had to fight their way back out of the mob of thirsty clubbers to get away from the bar, holding their full drinks aloft to avoid spilling. There were no open tables, so they leaned against the wood railing bordering the dance floor to sip their drinks, arms brushing.

“What are we looking for exactly?” John asked, nearly shouting to be heard over the music, some catchy pop song that sounded vaguely familiar. Sherlock hadn’t deigned to explain much at home. She had ambushed John after a late shift catching up on paperwork, shoving some black fabric into John’s arms and pushing her towards the loo.

“Put that on and get ready,” she’d ordered as John stumbled. “We’re going out.”

“I’m hungry,” John had complained, turning to face Sherlock standing in the doorway, and her breath caught at the sight of her. She was wearing one of her perfectly tailored suits, black trousers hugging her long legs and a deep burgundy top complimenting the creamy undertones of her skin.

Under John’s appreciative gaze, a knowing smirk had tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s red-tinted lips. She slouched against the door frame, accentuating the curve of her hip under the perfectly tailored fabric. “I made dinner. Hurry up and we can eat before we go.”

“You _made_ dinner? _And_ you’re going to eat something?”

“Don’t want to drink on an empty stomach.”

“We’re going to a pub?” John had toed off her shoes while pulling her jumper over her head. “What for?” When she emerged from the wool, she found Sherlock looming over her.

“I need to test a theory.” Sherlock had taken her shirt and bent down for a kiss. By the time she pulled away John could feel her pulse pounding in her neck.

“Case?”

Sherlock had hummed, giving her bare waist an appreciative squeeze before whirling away. “Don’t dawdle!”

Now, at her side, Sherlock took a dainty sip of her drink, eyes lazily scanning the room. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

John’s eyes kept getting caught on her, the flickering, colourful lights emphasizing first her reddened lips, then her mascaraed eyes, then her striking cheekbones. Every time John looked, she saw something new, a fresh angle that dazzled her with Sherlock’s beauty. Pale, smoky eyes caught her looking and Sherlock smiled, a pleased, bashful little curve. John bit her lip and looked away, not wanting to distract the consulting detective.

On the dance floor, bodies writhed and grinded, a sea of oblivious, transported dancers. A young couple in front of them was pressed flush together, the girl with her back to the boy’s front and her mouth open in bliss as he sucked on her neck. One hand was buried in his hair and the other covered his hand on the bare skin of her stomach, their joined fingers tucking under the edge of her shirt. They were an image of glorious, youthful intoxication, and John felt a pang of nostalgia and envy. During her early days at uni, she used to love going to the club with a group of people, friends who would watch out for each other and made her feel secure enough to lose herself a little. After months of studying and exams, dancing with a stranger until she was sweaty and dazed felt like the best stress relief.

Putting her drink down on the ledge, Sherlock slipped behind John, her long, elegant fingers landing on John’s hips. “Don’t tell anyone,” she murmured conspiratorially into John’s ear, “but I love dancing.” She began to subtly rock their hips together to the beat.

Taking a sip of her drink, John relaxed against the familiar body behind her, settling into the rhythm of the music. “I had no idea.” The closest she had ever seen Sherlock to dancing was when she swayed a bit while engrossed in her violin playing. “Dancing won’t distract you?”

“Might look odd,” Sherlock countered, lips brushing the shell of John’s ear and making her shiver, “if we just stand here and stare.”

 _Not really_ , John thought. There were plenty of people standing along the edges of the dance floor, chatting and drinking and watching the dancers. But she didn’t argue, just swayed happily in Sherlock’s arms, the beer relaxing her joints. She had got back from a week-long medical conference the other day, and was happy just to be pressed to Sherlock.

It was the longest they had been apart since becoming a couple, and she’d had to leave in the middle of a case. She’d warned Sherlock almost a month in advance, but when embroiled in a mystery, John knew that Sherlock tended to ignore or delete anything deemed irrelevant to the crime. It was no surprise that Sherlock forgot about the trip, and John had only felt a little guilty for laughing at Sherlock’s expression when she entered their room to find John packing her bags.

“Conference, remember?” she’d prompted, and Sherlock’s face had shifted from confused shock to confused outrage.

“You’re leaving _now_?”

“I know the timing sucks,” John had said, stuffing socks into the corner of her suitcase, “but it’s not like I can reschedule.”

“Don’t go, then!”

“As much as you like to think of me as your assistant, I actually am a doctor.”

Frowning, Sherlock collapsed onto their bed. “I’ve almost solved it. Another day, maybe two tops and we’ll have him.”

“I believe you, but you’ll have to do it without me. Think you can manage?”

“It’s not like I need you to solve a case,” Sherlock grumbled, watching sullenly as John packed.

With a huff, John smiled, knowing better than to be offended. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”

Sherlock continued to frown, looking troubled, but then she got a text and flew off the bed and out of the bedroom, making a racket as she searched through the mess of papers in the sitting room.

John had left for the airport later that afternoon, Sherlock lifting her head for an absentminded kiss from where she was slumped in her chair, thinking. When John arrived at her hotel hours later, she got a chain of texts from Sherlock reading:

_Where are you? SH_

_I didn’t notice you leave. SH_

_Why didn’t you say goodbye? SH_

What else could she do but laugh?

Sherlock had expressed her displeasure with John’s absence throughout the week by complaining via text and calling John at all hours. While many of the conference’s talks and presentations had been interesting, John had found it overall to be long and dull, and hadn’t done much to discourage Sherlock’s antics. She’d found herself missing the violin solos in the middle of the night, the tinkle of the chemistry set in the kitchen, being woken up by bony knees bumping her legs as Sherlock crawled into bed at dawn. The phone- and video-sex had been the highlight of her trip.

“Another drink?” Sherlock asked and John looked down in surprise to realize she had almost finished her beer. She took a last swallow and put her empty glass beside Sherlock’s half full one.

Turning her head, John spoke over the music. “Will we need to chase down a suspect later?”

“No, not tonight,” Sherlock promised, voice intimate in John’s ear.

Breath catching, it took a moment for John to find her voice. “Alright then.”

“Don’t move,” Sherlock ordered, squeezing her hips once before pulling away.

John watched her disappear back into the crowd, admiring her fluidity of movement and the cut of her figure. A swell of pride ballooned in her chest – that gorgeous woman was her partner.

By the time Sherlock returned with a fresh beer, a fellow club-goer had sidled up to John’s side, his appreciative glances and suggestive comments being politely ignored. John looked up with a smile as Sherlock insinuated herself in between them, her back to the man as she handed John the drink.

“Thanks.” John took a sip, trying not to laugh at the disgruntled look being sent her way over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Missed you.”

“I was only gone eight minutes,” Sherlock countered, retrieving her own unfinished first drink. She ducked down to give John a kiss and by the time she pulled away the man was gone.

“My hero,” John whispered with a laugh.

With an eyeroll, Sherlock downed the rest of her drink in three swallows. John watched her throat work. “Let’s dance.”

Half-empty glass in one hand, John let Sherlock pull her onto the dance floor by the other, weaving them a shallow two-people-deep into the crowd.

“I’m not any good,” John warned as Sherlock slipped around her to press up against her back again, freeing her to work on her second beer which was in danger of being spilled with all the jostling.

“Just feel me, and do what I do.”

Relaxing into Sherlock’s arms, John took a sip, eyes catching on the man from earlier. When he saw her notice him watching, he turned away to chat up another woman.

“I can hardly blame him,” Sherlock said, lips pressed to her ear to be heard over the music. She was a warm, comforting presence that John eagerly leaned back against. “Especially the way you look tonight.”

She tilted her head back against Sherlock’s shoulder and turned to bring her lips to Sherlock’s cheek. “The way I look? You’re the one who looks like sex tonight.”

“We make a striking image,” Sherlock agreed, breath tickling over John’s skin. John pressed her bum against Sherlock’s pelvis, encouraging their grinding rhythm. “That dress looks amazing on you.”

The beer was suddenly an unwanted distraction when all John wanted to do was turn and get both hands on her girlfriend. A flash of recklessness had her tipping back the rest of her drink, the glass being taken from her hand the second she swallowed the last drop. She twisted and pressed herself flush to Sherlock, hands finding Sherlock’s waist as they fell into a kiss that throbbed with the beat of the music.

She’d felt some insecurity when she’d put the dress on earlier, all clinging black fabric and expensive tailoring. It wasn’t the type of thing she would normally wear. Now, with Sherlock gripping her hips and pulling her closer, she forgot to worry about the muscle tone she had lost since being invalided, her slightly stocky build, the shoulder scarring barely hidden by the dress’s strap. It was a significant boost to the ego, being desired by someone as beautiful and intelligent as Sherlock Holmes. She felt like the sexiest woman in the room.

John broke away from the kiss to graze her lips along Sherlock’s jaw, realizing the case must not be all that important if Sherlock was letting John slip her hands under her suit jacket. With a sigh, John kissed down the long, smooth throat in front of her, greedily feeling out the curves of Sherlock’s hot skin through her satiny shirt. Her thumbs smoothed over the bones of her ribs as she tasted a prominent collarbone, Sherlock’s hands gliding up and down her hips and bum.

She was too old to be dancing like this – she wasn’t a 20-year-old university student anymore for chrissakes – but with the crush of bodies surrounding them, it didn’t seem to matter. All John could see were the flashing lights and Sherlock’s face, her neck, her body, electric, erotic, pulling her closer. The beer buzzed pleasantly through her bloodstream.

A few songs later, Sherlock pulled away, and John watched her turn to accept two drinks from someone behind her, passing one to John and clinking their glasses together. With a quirk of the eyebrow and a tug of the lips, Sherlock took several deep pulls from her drink. John copied her, the taste of rum strong in the back of her throat.

“We’re not on a case, are we?” John took another sip, mirrored by Sherlock. “You’d never have two drinks if we were.”

Sherlock smiled, face flushed. “Good deduction.” She pulled John closer again, her hair tickling John’s cheek. “Except mine’s a double.” She swiftly finished her drink and handed off her empty glass to someone’s waiting hand. Considering her two beers, John opted to pace herself. She wasn’t as much of a lightweight as Sherlock, but they were both going to be feeling that soon enough.

With her entire perspective of their night shifting, John felt her own smile grow and her heartrate quicken with excitement. “So, why are we here then?”

Hands landing back on John’s hips, Sherlock resumed their rhythmic swaying, nudging a leg between John’s. Bowing her head, Sherlock brought her lips to John’s ear. “I told you, I like dancing.”

Taking another sip to steady her voice, John asked, “And what theory did you need to test?”

The beat of the music was quick, intoxicating, pulling them tighter against each other. “Do you remember the second night of your conference?” Sherlock’s voice was satin in her ear. “You were naked on the hotel bed, I was masturbating while watching you do the same, when you realized you’d forgotten to lock the door.”

Flushed and breathless, John pressed against the thigh between her legs as the memory rushed to the front of her mind.

It had been late, John had had a few drinks with dinner, and they’d decided to do a video call over their laptops. Sherlock had just solved the case John had abandoned and was especially pleased with herself. John had been enamoured of her self-satisfied preening and had decided to reward her with a bit of a strip show. She’d half meant it as a joke until she realized Sherlock was quite seriously interested.

Things had been well underway – John nude on the bed and fingering her clit while Sherlock watched, rapt, her shoulder twitching with the movement of her hand between her legs – when John noticed that the door to her room wasn’t latched completely shut.

The shock and fear that jolted through her were expected – the lust was not. Sherlock had picked up on her sudden uptick in passion immediately.

“What is it?” she’d demanded fervently.

With a moan, John thrusted her hips into her hand, jostling the laptop on the mattress. “The door…it’s not –”

Sherlock’s eyes burned through the laptop screen. “The door’s not locked?”

Shaking her head, John met Sherlock’s gaze helplessly, rubbing quicker, harder.

“Anyone could walk in and see you,” Sherlock breathed, sweat glistening on the skin revealed by her unbuttoned shirt.

“Oh, God,” John whined, in fear, in excitement. She felt herself throb at the thought and her eyelids fluttered shut, suddenly much closer to coming.

“Oh, John.” Even tinny through the speakers Sherlock’s voice was thick and sweet as honey, skin flushed down her neck and to her chest as she watched John getting off. “Tell me how close you are.”

“So close,” John whimpered, legs kicking and back arching as she rubbed and flicked and circled over that sensitive bud relentlessly, slick and swollen and desperate.

Sherlock’s groan crackled through the laptop and John saw her hunch over, biting her lip as she stared hard at John through the screen. “Put a finger in yourself,” she begged. “I want to see your face.”

Turning her face to the camera, John quickly obliged, her own gasps of pleasure matched by Sherlock’s. She was so wet and eager that it hardly took any effort at all, a delicious pressure inside that added to the mounting sensations. “ _Sherlock_.”

“Hush, John, the door. You didn’t close it properly. If you’re too loud, someone might come in to investigate.”

Breath catching, John felt her eyes roll back as the pleasure spiked, an embarrassing noise getting caught in her throat.

“What a shock they’d get, finding you fucking yourself for me, completely bare and open for anyone to see –”

“Oh, Sherlock – _fuck, fuck_.” She’d come instantly, dramatically, back arching and hips twitching as she pushed her finger in deep and rubbed hard at her throbbing clit, imagining the door opening for anyone in the hall to see what she was doing. She’d nearly knocked the laptop off the bed and saved it just in time to see Sherlock’s own orgasm, her head tilting back and mouth dropping open as her chest heaved and her arm jerked with her desperate movements.

“Of course I remember that night,” John said roughly, taking another sip of her drink only to realize there was nothing left but ice. Sherlock took it from her and flexed her thigh against John’s mons, and John couldn’t help but gasp at the sharp throb of pleasure that shot through her. The effects of the alcohol were making themselves known; she felt relaxed and loose and just a little hazy. She did not hesitate to press into that strong thigh. She forgot what she was going to say and sighed Sherlock’s name instead.

Tilting John’s head up, Sherlock swooped down for another kiss, hands delicate but sure on her jaw, tongue cool and sweet against her own, the burn of rum in the back of their throats. Their bodies undulated together in a mimicry of sex, surrounded by an anonymous sea of dancers. The lights, the music, the people – it all washed over John, numbing her inhibitions, freeing her recklessness. Her limbs felt like liquid. Her hands did not hesitate now as they rove over Sherlock’s body, skimming down her throat, dipping into her suprasternal notch, slipping down into the collar of her shirt. The fingers of one hand traced the smooth skin along her sternum while the other hand cupped a modest breast, thumb swiping over a peaking nipple. Sherlock wasn’t wearing bra, John realized, and she groaned deep in her throat, feeling out that lush handful.

Gasping into John’s mouth, Sherlock writhed under John’s possessive touches, rocking John onto her thigh with a hand at the small of her back. Breaking away from the kiss, Sherlock’s lips took John’s earlobe prisoner, lipping and nipping at the delicate flesh while slowly slipping a hand up John’s bare thigh, tucking her fingertips under the hem of her dress. Eyes closed and mouth dropping open, John panted into Sherlock’s ear, feeling hot and desperate, a throbbing ball of heat between her legs that spiked and flared like the sun.

The music changed to something deep and sultry, the rhythm overpowering, guiding their bodies with intent. Sherlock was too tall to comfortably grind against John’s thigh, so John pressed her hip bone forward instead, circling her hips slowly. The hand on her thigh clenched and slipped higher. Eyelids heavy, John undid a button on Sherlock’s shirt and pressed her lips to newly exposed skin, hot and flushed under her mouth. The hand at the small of her back shifted to grab at her waist, thumb digging into the flexing muscles of her stomach. She undid another button. More skin, sweat, heat. She licked, feeling Sherlock’s pulse race under her tongue. The hand on her upper thigh slid back, fingers squeezing her bum – she hadn’t bothered to wear shorts under her dress. Sherlock shuddered against her, rubbing against her hip bone.

She didn’t know how much more she could stand. She was wet and throbbing between her legs, hips circling mindlessly, barely following the music’s beat. Sherlock was not much better off, flushed down to her chest and eyes wild. Her fingers were inching closer between John’s legs and if someone looked, John was certain her dress was doing little to maintain her modesty. Anyone could see what the were doing, and it was that thought that made her knees weak, made her grab hard at Sherlock’s hips. Tilting her head up, she buried a hand in Sherlock’s hair to pull her down and slipped the other into her back pocket, massaging her gorgeous arse through her expensive trousers.

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” she moaned as their lips met, feeling on fire, panicky, desperate.

Their kiss was rough and hard and Sherlock stiffened before yanking away. Eyes wide, she grabbed John’s wrist and pulled, weaving through the crowd, practically shoving people out of their way. They made their way to the women’s loo, where Sherlock pulled John inside, past the queue of impatient, intoxicated women.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” one complained as Sherlock stalked to the front, pushing John into the accessible stall just as someone was coming out.

“Do you _want_ her to puke all over your shoes?” Sherlock countered, slipping in after John and locking the door behind them.

“Sherlock,” John laughed breathlessly, “I’m f–”

Cheeks flushed and eyes dark, Sherlock crowded her up against the wall and bent her head for a kiss. Lightheaded and tipsy, John leaned gratefully against the wall and buried a hand in Sherlock’s thick, sweat-damp curls, licking the taste of rum from Sherlock’s lips. A long thigh nudged between her legs and she gasped, knees straightening automatically as she arched into the pressure. Moaning into her mouth, Sherlock slipped her hand under John’s dress again, fingers grazing the fabric of her thong as she squeezed her bare arse.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John gasped, head thumping against the wall. The loo was loud with the chatter and laughter of drunk women, the music pounding through the walls, toilets flushing and sinks running. It was the least romantic place John could think of, the scent of urine and alcohol and perfume permeating the air, but she felt herself throb at the feel of Sherlock’s fingers inching towards her centre. There were small gaps between the stall door and the wall, through which she could see women moving about. “God, I want you. Let’s go home.”

Shaking her head, Sherlock brought their lips together again, moving her hips in gentle circles that made John’s knees weak. “Want you here,” she mumbled, nipping along John’s jaw. Her fingers wriggled under the fabric of her thong, settling against her coccyx.

“Fuck,” John whimpered. The metal walls rattled as someone in one of the other stalls stumbled. “I am not having sex with you in a public toilet,” she hissed, pushing Sherlock’s hips away with regret. She was drunk, but not _that_ drunk.

With a groan, Sherlock pulled back, collapsing against the wall beside John. They stood for a moment, panting. John could barely stand to look at her, her face flushed, shirt nearly half unbuttoned, hair a tousled mess.

Licking her swollen lips, Sherlock’s eyes slipped sideways to glance at her. “I missed you, you know.”

Exhaling through her mouth, John closed her eyes. “During my conference?”

Sherlock hummed. A cool hand sneaked into her own, their fingers intertwining.

“I missed you, too.” She looked down at their clasped hands, a sweet pang in her chest. “Every time I was bored, I’d imagine you there, deducing everyone and berating the speakers.” She laughed.

“You being away…” Sherlock hesitated and John raised her head. Sherlock blinked, looked down. “It made me realize something.”

“What?”

“I don’t need you to solve a case,” Sherlock said slowly, gaging John’s reaction with darting glances, “but it’s not the same without you. The Work, it’s…better with you, and I don’t ever want to go back to how it was before, without you. I want –”

Chest tight, John squeezed Sherlock’s hand encouragingly, that pang blossoming into a warm ache. “You want what?”

“You,” Sherlock said, eyes wide, guileless. “I want you forever, and it was only from missing you that I realized what I had to lose.”

John forgot that they were in a toilet stall, forgot the crowd of people not three feet away, forgot the unpleasant stickiness under her shoes. Heart in her throat, she twisted to press against her ridiculous, gorgeous, genius of a girlfriend, clasping her face in both hands for a passionate, heart-felt kiss.

With a whimper, Sherlock gripped John’s hips, bringing them closer together.

A small, wary, insistent thought had John pulling back slightly. She was well aware how manipulative Sherlock could be. “You’re not just saying that to convince me…”

“No!” Sherlock exclaimed, genuinely shocked. “No, of course not.” She bit her lips as John pressed her hip between Sherlock’s legs. “God, let’s go home, I can’t – I want you –”

Heart pounding with her own daring, John ducked to press a line of kisses down Sherlock’s throat, over her collarbone, down her heaving sternum. Maybe she was drunk enough after all. She couldn’t deny the thrill that accompanied the thought of what she was about to do.

With fingers slightly clumsy with drink, she undid Sherlock’s trousers, slowly pulling down the zip and leaning back to watch as Sherlock’s pupils bloomed and heat suffused her cheeks. She nuzzled at the swell of Sherlock’s breast, working her trousers over her hips. A trembling hand settled in her hair.

When Sherlock’s trousers lowered to the floor, John did too.

“ _Joanna_.”

Only dimly aware of the cold, sticky tiles under her knees, she nuzzled into the black knickers in front of her nose, breathing deeply the familiar, hot smell of Sherlock’s excitement. There hadn’t been time to have sex since John had gotten back, and now John had to squeeze her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of her desire for this woman.

Normally John would draw this part out, peppering kisses up and down Sherlock’s thighs, licking along the crease of her groin, and teasing through her knickers until Sherlock was whimpering and begging for more. She didn’t have the patience for that now. They were both worked up from dancing and Sherlock was already wet through her pants – John could taste her through the cotton as she licked a line up Sherlock’s centre.

Sherlock gasped her name and combed her fingers through John’s hair, her pelvis twitching closer to John’s mouth. Someone could probably see John kneeling on the floor through the gap under the stall door. It made her squirm with indecent pleasure.  

With another teasing lick, feeling out Sherlock’s swollen folds with her tongue, she hooked her fingers under the elastic band of Sherlock’s pants and pulled them down to join her trousers. Sherlock strained against the clothing bunched at her ankles, struggling to spread her legs as wide as possible for John, thighs tense on either side of John’s head. Looking up to gage Sherlock’s interest, she found Sherlock gazing at her with eyes heavy with desire, forehead creased with desperation, and biting at a knuckle to keep quiet. The sight made John want to make her cry out, loud enough that everyone in the loo would know what John was doing to her.

The thought must have shown on her face, because Sherlock’s eyes widened and she shivered, hips thrusting minutely under John’s hands. Eager, begging with her body. Licking her lips, John closed her eyes and bent to her task with single-minded focus, spreading Sherlock open with her tongue. The taste of her exploded through John’s mouth, making her salivate and swallow hard with want. Fingers clenching on Sherlock’s skin, John dragged her tongue from cunt to clit, smearing her wetness, adding to it with broad laps over her blood-hot folds.

Above her: a barely-audible moan. Sherlock’s nails grazing her scalp. John’s lips twitched with a smile, knowing Sherlock could feel it, knowing how much Sherlock loved her mouth. She caressed and massaged and teased every petal of sensitive flesh until her chin was soaked with Sherlock’s slick, then focused her attention on the flushed, eager bud of her clit peaking out of its hood. Nose buried in Sherlock’s pubic hair, brain lighting up with the scent of her skin and clean sweat, she flicked the trembling tip of her tongue over Sherlock’s clit.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sherlock whimpered, hips twitching.

John wanted more. She alternated between darting licks and slow, deliberate circles, winding Sherlock up until her thighs trembled, then gently pressed a finger against her wet opening. Just barely nudging inside, she flicked her tongue again and Sherlock swore and throbbed, dripping onto John’s finger. John gasped, shivered, and pressed in further, gently spreading apart the smooth, tensing rings of muscle. Instantly Sherlock bore down, impaling herself and pressing against John’s fluttering tongue. With her free hand John gripped Sherlock’s arse hard, encouraging her thrusting as she began licking her with intent: strong, rhythmic swipes of her tongue against that sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves.

Sherlock moaned, voice half breath. The hand in her hair clenched. The muscles around John’s finger clenched harder.

Head buried between Sherlock’s legs, John felt hot, blissful, transported by the haze of alcohol and the scent and taste of her lover. Her knees hurt but she couldn’t stop her hips from circling in the air, her damp knickers rubbing against her clit. She wanted to touch herself but couldn’t bear to let go of Sherlock, who was near writhing in her hands and under her mouth. Sucking that tender bead into her mouth, John groaned out her frustrated desire and Sherlock whined, back arching. She was close, the clenching around John’s finger stronger and more frequent, her breathing quick and ragged. John was just as desperate, panting just as hard.

Relaxing her aching jaw, John flattened her tongue against Sherlock’s clit, shaking her head back and forth rapidly. Sherlock’s hand fell from her mouth to slap against the wall by her hip. John plunged her finger in and out twice then curled it to tap against Sherlock’s sweet spot, again and again. Sherlock shuddered, her hand clenching in John’s hair before releasing, clutching helplessly at John’s shoulder.

“John, John,” she whispered harshly, her body tensing, her shoulders curling.

Groaning in encouragement, John flicked her tongue fast, up and down, battering Sherlock’s clit relentlessly. She dug her nails into Sherlock’s arse, pressed hard against that spot inside her. Sherlock’s vaginal muscles clamped and released, then clamped again.

“ _Oh_ , I’m coming,” Sherlock wheezed, high and strained, definitely audible over the din of other voices. Her back bowed off the wall, every muscle straining towards John. “Oh, yes, yes, fuck, _oh!_ ”

John flicked her tongue fast, kept curling her finger as Sherlock shook and whimpered and came on her hand, in her mouth. The feel of Sherlock throbbing against her drove her wild, the taste of her, hot and salty on John’s tongue, was an aphrodisiac that made her lightheaded. Sherlock was twitching fitfully so John went pliant against her, letting Sherlock rub herself against John’s stiff tongue, letting her fuck herself on John’s curled finger. With a hiccupping sigh, the powerful clenching of her vaginal muscles eased, the taught line of her body falling into fine tremors. She continued to sway her hips minutely, rubbing against the soothing laps of John’s tongue.

“God, John,” she moaned, chest heaving and glistening with sweat, her jacket halfway down her arms and shirt open to bare her breasts. Her nipples were hard and John suddenly regretted not giving them the attention they deserved. 

Someone in the stall next to them laughed.

Finger still snug inside Sherlock, John looked up and delivered a last, delicate lick to Sherlock’s tender, puffy clit, watching Sherlock’s eyelids flutter as an aftershock rippled through her. When she gazed down at John she looked drugged, lips red and parted, face blushing, hair damp with sweat. Sherlock was looking at her like John was the best mystery she had ever seen, like a locked-room murder and a serial killer combined, like she broke her crime rating scale. Biting her lip, John closed her eyes as the heat spiked between her legs, suddenly wondering if it were possible to come untouched.

“Up, up, now, now,” Sherlock ordered, gripping her upper arms and tugging.

Gently removing her finger, her hand soaked, John stumbled to her feet, blood rushing from her head and alcohol to it. Sherlock caught her as she swayed, realizing her knees hurt quite badly, and kissed her, which did nothing to help her recover her balance. Leaning away briefly, Sherlock pulled up her trousers haphazardly. She twisted John and pushed until her hands slapped against cool metal, the world at last righting itself as she leaned against the stall wall, Sherlock’s slick smearing under her hand.

“Fingerprints,” she muttered, then gasped as Sherlock pressed up behind her, pressing her lips to the side of her neck.

“Shh,” Sherlock whispered into her skin, nudging her legs apart with a foot. “Someone might hear you.”

Bowing her head, John bit her lip as she realized how audacious their new position was. There was someone on the other side of the stall wall John was leaning on. In her peripheral vision, she could see a woman washing her hands through the gap along the stall door. She burned, arched into Sherlock’s hold, spread her legs for the hand slipping up her inner thigh. Breath hot on the back of her neck, Sherlock chuckled, pressed her pelvis to John’s bum.

Hands delved under her dress and pulled down her soaked knickers, just enough for Sherlock’s hand to slip inside. At the first touch of delicate fingers, John nearly cried out, biting her own arm as all her joints went weak. The hand cupped her as they shuffled forward, letting John collapse to her elbows against the wall, biting her forearm as she circled her hips desperately, mindlessly. Even that small movement was enough to ignite sparks in her vision, the friction of Sherlock’s hand and the slickness of her labia combining deliciously against her clit.

Hushing her again, Sherlock settled her other hand on John’s stomach, feeling the contractions of her abdominals. Between her legs, Sherlock’s hand spread her open with index and pinky, her middle and ring fingers dipping themselves into her wetness before starting to circle smoothly over her clit, and John couldn’t stop the quiet whine from slipping between her teeth. She pressed her forehead to the wall and watched her skirt rustle with Sherlock’s movements, pleasure flaring every time Sherlock’s fingers brushed over the swollen bud of her clit.

The hand on her stomach disappeared and reappeared on her bum, gliding down and in until there were two fingers nudging at her cunt. John swore and clenched a hand in her hair, back arching to invite those long, clever fingers inside.

“Quiet, John,” Sherlock murmured into her ear, removing her fingers from John’s clit in punishment. John inhaled sharply in dismay, then exhaled in gratitude as both fingers pushed in, splitting her sweetly open. “Oh, that’s it, let me in.”

John felt hyperaware, despite the buzz of alcohol in her system. She could feel Sherlock’s breasts pressing against the bare skin of her back. She could hear the woman relieving herself in the next stall. She could smell their sex over the stench of the loo. She could feel Sherlock’s breaths tickling the hairs on her neck and the heat of her fingers hovering over her aching clit.

“God, that’s my girl,” Sherlock whispered roughly, pressing her fingers all the way in, knuckles rubbing spreading her wide.

She could barely stand it. She felt surrounded by Sherlock, held and touched everywhere, hot and needy. They were surrounded by strangers, an oblivious crowd with John a hidden bomb in their midst, primed to blow. All she needed was a twitch of Sherlock’s fingers to ignite the fuse. Every second of delay tightened the need inside her. “Please,” she whimpered, shivering heat between her legs.

“Hush.”

The fingers inside her began thrusting slowly, letting her feel the drag, her muscles clenching and gripping with each slide. Her clit sparked with pleasure as fingertips tapped against it, gently, again and again, shots of pleasure ripping up her spine. Sherlock’s mouth at her neck resumed its wet kisses and stinging nips, humming into her skin like she was the most delicious thing Sherlock had ever tasted. John couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe, afraid to make a sound and knowing it was inevitable, her throat tightening as Sherlock fucked her and rubbed at her. Sherlock touched John like she owned her, knowing, deliberate movements that drove John to the edge of orgasm and kept her there, poised and straining and desperate for the fall.

They writhed together, Sherlock thrusting faster, harder now, her fingers still too light against John’s clit, arms strong around her. There was a sob in the back of John’s throat, her mouth dropping open as the pleasure flared and faded in cycles, growing stronger, her internal muscles clamping around the invading fingers.

“ _Shh_ ,” Sherlock hissed urgently, squeezing her harder as the whine vibrated in John’s throat.

Their stall door rattled violently. The lock wriggled.

Panic and excitement exploded through her. She stiffened in Sherlock’s arms.

“Occupied!” Sherlock called breathlessly and thrust her fingers in hard.

A sharp stab of pleasure and John bucked, head whipping back. She narrowly missed giving Sherlock a bloody nose as spasms started deep inside, paralyzing in their intensity.

“Hurry up!” an obnoxious voice complained and Sherlock complied, circling her clit hard and fast, practically vibrating against her. Taught as a wire, John’s eyes rolled back. Then, suspiciously: “What are you doing in there?”

Her orgasm ripped through her, the moan tearing from her throat, barely muffled by the arm she shoved into her mouth. Laughing in her ear, Sherlock rubbed her through it, fingers fluttering deliciously inside her as she clenched and quivered and swallowed back her cries. Sherlock slid her fingers out and pushed back in, making John choke and drop her forehead against the wall. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as the pleasure swelled and peaked and spluttered, her hips twitching and clit throbbing under Sherlock’s clever fingers.

A final, whimpering, “ _Fuck_ ,” and at last the pleasure faded to something less intense, little shivers running through her as Sherlock held her and placed kisses to her neck. 

“Sorry, almost done,” Sherlock called, and the figure on the other side of the door shifted.

John peeked over and froze, coming eye-to-eye with a woman, jaw slack and eyebrows high in shock, obviously having deduced what they were doing. The eye contact lasted less than a second and the woman was gone. John felt all her blood rush to her face, still grinding subtly against Sherlock’s hands in her pants.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered, chest shaking.

Sherlock removed her hands from John’s bits and snorted into her neck in amusement, gripping her wetly by the hips. Laughter bursting out of her, John collapsed against the wall and Sherlock collapsed against her, both of them shuddering with mirth. Sherlock snickered into her hair while John hiccupped into her own arm, squirming as Sherlock attempted to put her soaked knickers to rights.

“No, gross,” John laughed, wriggling out of her grasp to grab for the toilet paper. They cleaned themselves up as best they could, but their flushed faces, wrecked hair and makeup, and swollen lips left little to the imagination.

“This was the most ridiculous thing we have ever done. I need to start a list,” John decided, still giggling, and Sherlock kissed the laughter from her lungs, tongue chasing the taste of herself in John’s mouth.

“I know you were bored at that conference,” Sherlock said breathlessly, eyes wide and blue and smudged with mascara. “Wanted to re-introduce some excitement into your life. Give you a proper welcome home.”

“Every day is exciting with you, you beautiful dolt,” John promised, watching Sherlock’s cheeks heat in pleasure. “But I suppose now you’ve proven your little theory about me.”

The stall door rattled as someone knocked. “Oi, would you hurry up, I gotta wee!”

Sherlock pulled back and John reached out to tuck in a stray curl. “I know that look on your face,” John accused as she followed Sherlock to the door. “You’re going to experiment this to death, aren’t you?”

“Several little ones, if we’re lucky.” With a lopsided smile and a wink, Sherlock threw open the stall door and strode out like royalty, pulling John by the hand. The gaggle of women closest gawked at them, except for the next woman in line, who breathed an exasperated “Finally!” and stumbled into the stall behind them.

Blushing, self-conscious, John resisted the urge to duck her head and hunch her shoulders while they quickly washed their hands, staying close to Sherlock’s side as they walked past the other women to leave the loo.

“Your touch of exhibitionism?” Sherlock murmured into her ear, just loud enough that someone nearby might be able to hear if they listened intently. “Oh, John, I have _so_ many ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate every comment and kudos! 
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](https://notesoflore.tumblr.com/)


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